


Who Needs Cake?

by DeansDirtyLittleSecret



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Oral Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 00:20:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4982494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeansDirtyLittleSecret/pseuds/DeansDirtyLittleSecret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine Dean telling you that instead of cake, he wants to eat you for his birthday. (Imagine originally posted on Tumblr)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Needs Cake?

You were digging through the cupboards in the bunker’s kitchen, desperately hoping that somewhere in the back of one of them you would find what you were looking for. You were grumbling under your breath and getting more and more irritated with every minute that passed.

You had a pile of boxes and cans steadily growing on the floor next to you when you heard someone clear their throat behind you. You stood up so fast you slammed your head on the cupboard shelf above you.

“Damn it!” you griped, rubbing the top of your head. You turned to see Dean standing behind you, arms crossed and a not-so-happy look on his face.

You smiled sheepishly. “Hi.”

“What are you doing to my kitchen?” he asked. His voice was lower and more gruff than normal, like he’d just woke up from a nap. He hair was kind of messy and he was wearing just a pair of jeans, a v-neck t-shirt and his feet were bare.

“I was looking for something,” you answered.

“What are you looking for?” he said.

“I just...just wanted to make something,” you replied. “But I can’t find what I need.”

“What are you looking for?” he repeated with an exasperated sigh.

“Cake mix,” you told him. “I was going to make a cake for your birthday.”

Dean looked a bit taken aback at the statement. You guessed he wasn’t accustomed to anyone making a fuss over him on his birthday; he’d seemed genuinely surprised this morning when you’d wished him a happy birthday. Sam hadn’t said anything when he’d wandered into the library a little while later, nor at any point during the day. Dean hadn’t seemed to mind. The day had passed just like any normal day - research, hunting down cases and an inventory of the ammo before a supply run. When Sam had left to drive to Wichita for said supplies, still without a word about his brother’s birthday, you’d decided to try to do something extra for Dean. If anybody deserved a happy birthday, it was Dean Winchester.

“I just wanted to do something nice for you,” you explained. “I mean, it’s your birthday and Sam didn’t say anything about it -”

“Doesn’t bother me,” he shrugged, watching you intently, a tiny smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“ - and somebody should,” you continued. “So, I thought I’d make you a cake, but there’s nothing to make it with, so now I feel bad…” You were babbling, you knew it and you couldn’t stop yourself. Dean always had that effect on you, you would just spit out words, hoping they made some kind of sense. You didn’t know if it was the green eyes that always seem to sparkle with some kind of intimate knowledge, or the pure masculinity that seemed to roll off of him in waves, or the thousands of freckles covering his tanned skin, or maybe those sinfully gorgeous lips that you knew would feel like a cool breeze on a hot day sliding over your skin. Whatever it was, you seemed to lose control of your mouth whenever he focused all of his attention on you.

“I guess I could make it from scratch, though I’ve never done it, so it might not be so great.” You could hear yourself and you wanted to stop, but the words just kept coming. “Maybe if I find a really good Rachael Ray recipe or something -”

“Y/N!” Dean interrupted you.

You snapped your mouth shut, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. You’d finally babbled too much and annoyed the crap out of him. You took a couple of steps backward as he stalked toward you, finally stopping when your back hit the counter.

“I don’t want a cake,” he said softly.

“But everyone should have a cake to eat on their birthday,” you protested.

Dean was so close to you that you could feel the heat radiating off of him. There couldn’t have been more than a couple of inches between the two of you and you were about to melt under the intensity of his gaze. You tried to back up, but you only succeeded in pushing closer to the counter, the edge of it biting into your lower back. When he put a hand on either side of you and leaned over you, you were sure you stopped breathing.

“I don’t want to eat cake for my birthday,” he murmured, his lips right next to your ear. his hand on your hip. “Not when I think you would taste a million times better.”

You closed your eyes and let out the breath you’d been holding. You clutched the edge of the counter with both hands and tried to keep yourself upright as Dean’s lips slid down your neck. He hooked the collar of your shirt with one finger and pulled it to the side, pressing soft kisses along your collarbone to the hollow of your throat. He deftly unbuttoned your shirt, pushing it off your shoulders and letting it fall on the pile of cans and boxes on the floor.

“You know what I want to eat for my birthday, Y/N?” he growled as he yanked at the buttons on your jeans.

“N...n...no,” you whimpered. Dean had succeeded in opening your jeans and his fingers were now dipping into the front of your panties, tracing over the wet lips of your pussy. A tiny moan escaped you.

“You,” he breathed. He put the finger he’d just had in your panties in his mouth and sucked on it, groaning, the sound obscene and unbelievably hot. He dropped to his knees in front of you, tugged your jeans down past your hips, then he pressed his mouth to the top of your panties, biting and nipping at them, his thumb rubbing at your clit through the cotton fabric.

You were already trembling, the feel of those lips against your skin driving you crazy with need.  Dean mouthed at the panties covering you, inhaling deeply as he nose skimmed over the soft hairs at the apex of your thighs. He teased you, his tongue flicking out to lick you, his fingers caressing you, the now soaked fabric of your panties pressing against you. You grabbed the back of Dean’s head, your hips jutting forward, seeking more.

You tried to put your leg over his shoulder, to pull him closer, but the jeans still around your thighs felt like they were holding you hostage, keeping you from what you wanted, what you needed.

Dean stood up with a frustrated growl. “This isn’t working,” he mumbled as he pulled you into his arms. He half carried you, half dragged you through the bunker, kicked open his bedroom door and dropped you to his bed. It took him less than a minute to divest you of your clothes, then he was shoving you up the bed until your back was resting against the headboard and his head was between your legs.

He flattened his tongue and licked a line along the lips of your pussy, moaning low in the back of his throat. He looked up at you, his lips wet with your arousal, a smirk on his face, then he dropped his head between your legs.

He started slow, teasing you along like he had in the kitchen, biting and sucking gently at your thighs, nuzzling them with his nose, his hands kneading and massaging them. He kissed your stomach and your hipbones, ran his hands up your sides so he could fondle your breasts, touching and caressing every inch of your naked body.

Dean’s stubble was scratching deliciously over your sensitive skin, as he placed rough kisses on your inner thighs, the burn pleasurably painful. He nibbled lightly at your outer lips as he spread you open with his fingers, slipped his tongue in deep, and swirled it slowly in circles, burying it inside you, his nose pressed to your clit. He was making satisfied grunting sounds in the back of his throat as his tongue explored you.

Your head fell back against the headboard with a loud thunk and you were clutching the blankets so tight that your knuckles were white. Heat was building and building in the pit of your stomach, igniting something deep inside you. You were gasping, close to screaming, sensations like you’d never felt before rushing through every nerve in your body.

Two fingers slid in alongside Dean’s tongue, twisting in a come hither motion, brushing over your g-spot. Your hips shot off the bed and a low moan shot out of your mouth.

“Hmm, there it is,” Dean chuckled, his fingers still moving, his hot breath blowing across your pussy. He looked up at you, a glorious smile on his face, his mouth and chin wet with your slick.

“Hold on, sweetheart,” he growled, pulling your legs over his shoulders.

He sucked your clit between his lips, flicking it repeatedly with his tongue, as he continued moving his fingers. He held you down, his arm across your hips as he consumed you, his fingers and his mouth doing indescribable things to you.

“Dean,” you groaned, wrapping one hand around the back of his head and grinding against his face. White heat was pulsing through every limb, burning as it raced through you. Your vision went black, starbursts of light exploding behind your closed eyes as the orgasm hit, the feeling almost more than you could handle. You were gasping and shaking, your entire body trembling with the sensations rolling through you.

Dean slid his arm around your back, lifting you closer to him, sucking, nibbling, licking, driving you crazy, pulling the most intense orgasm you’d ever had out of you. He worked you through it, somehow sweet and tender while still fucking you senseless with just his mouth.

When you finally slumped against the headboard, spent, he spent several minutes kissing your thighs, your hips, your stomach, suckling your breasts, until he was mouthing a trail along your neck, just under your ear. Your fingers were curled tight around his biceps and damn it if you didn’t feel that familiar pull between your legs again, just from his lips on your skin. He traced your ear with his tongue, his breath tickling you.

“See,” he murmured. “I don’t need cake. You’re more delicious than any cake could ever be.” He wrapped his arms around you, pulling into a comforting hug. “I couldn’t have asked for anything better for my birthday.”

You smiled up at him and pushed him to his back. “We’ll just have to see about that.”

 


End file.
